


"Special Order White Cake"

by perdix



Category: World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Angst, Gen, passive-agressive baked goods
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-20
Updated: 2015-02-20
Packaged: 2018-03-13 21:38:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 462
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3397286
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/perdix/pseuds/perdix
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Or that's what it says on the label, at least. (Ambrollins if you squint)</p>
            </blockquote>





	"Special Order White Cake"

**Author's Note:**

> I saw a picture of a cake on tumblr and literally couldn't help myself.

([here](http://psychologyofcolor.tumblr.com/post/40104726969) is the cake)

  

 

Seth comes back from the gym to find a nondescript white box sitting on the threshold of his hotel room door.

 

He stands over it, raises an eyebrow, and makes a face. It’s _probably_ dangerous, he decides, he _probably_ shouldn’t open it, but curiosity gets the better of him. He picks it up gingerly with both hands, balancing it awkwardly on his knee as he fumbles one-handed with the keycard. After a bit of cursing— _why are card readers always so damn fickle?_ — he gets the door unlocked. He kicks it nonchalantly closed behind him on the way in and flicks the lights on.

Seth sets the box down on the bed and stares at it.  
It looks like a cake box.

He opens it and, yeah, it’s a cake box all right, complete with a whole, bonafide cake. It’s frosted white, and the entire left side is decorated with the playful arch of a rainbow, a sun, some clouds. And next to it, in red, neat, icing-written letters, are the words “you’re dead to us now, we hope you fail.” Seth’s nose wrinkles in disgust. He knows exactly who it’s from.

* * *

 

The cake had been all Dean’s idea, actually— words, rainbow, the whole shebang. He makes sure that it’s chocolate, too, because he knows it’s Seth’s least favorite kind. That’s one of those little, unimportant details Dean learned about him during their time as the Shield, back when they were still brothers. Back before Dean’s world was shattered into a thousand fucking pieces.

There’s so many of those stupid, useless facts floating around his brain, and he hates that he can remember them all. The brand of hair dye Seth uses. His favorite magazine. The way the corners of his eyes crinkle when he smiles. And the cake thing, of course. He remembers that too. But hey, he might as well make some use out of it, right? As long as he gets to antagonize Seth with it, it’ll be fine. Dean tells himself that maybe remembering will hurt less then.

Ironically, while he’s ordering it at the bakery, he can’t stop thinking of Seth’s  _favorite_ type of cake. Of the time he and Roman threw a surprise party for him because they were on the road and Seth couldn’t go home to celebrate his birthday with his family. He remembers how goddamn  _happy_ Seth was and he wants to punch something.

He tells the girl behind the counter who’s jotting down his order to make it say “you’re dead to us now”. Because he’s bitter, yeah, and angry— the sting of betrayal still hasn’t gone away, and Dean doubts it ever will— but also because he wishes it were actually _true_. He wishes he could forget.

 


End file.
